"Good morning, brothers and sisters in the Lord!"
The booming voice cut through the steady hum of the luxurious bus just moments after its owner climbed aboard.
He was a middle-aged man dressed in a wrinkled grey suit that had seen better days. Clutched firmly beneath one arm was a large, well-worn Bible, its edges frayed from years of use. His eyes burned with the fervor of a man intoxicated by the Word of God—though the faint scent of wine lingering on his breath suggested that scripture was not the only thing that had filled him that morning.
Without waiting for a response, he strode confidently down the aisle, smiling broadly at the passengers.
At the rear of the bus sat Heaven.
She was a beautiful young woman with a burnished complexion that caught the soft morning light filtering through the tinted windows. At first glance, her face appeared calm, almost expressionless. She had become skilled at concealing her emotions behind an innocent, composed exterior.
But grief has a language of its own. It revealed itself in the slight furrow of her graceful brow and the gentle downward curve of her full lips. And then there were her eyes.
They betrayed everything. Behind them lay an ocean of sorrow so deep that no smile could ever hope to conceal it.
For the first time since boarding the bus, Heaven slowly lifted her head. Her gaze settled on the unusual preacher.
She studied him in silence, taking a long, searching look, and in a few seconds she came up with a conclusion—he must be a jobless man, probably with five children and a wife. This morning, he woke up, dug up that suit, which has no current relationship with a pressing iron, dusted his bible, and off he went to the nearest bus station, waiting for the arrival of this bus.
In about fifteen minutes, he would rant and rave, gesticulating wildly, telling them about the love of Christ, His healing power, unfailing protection, and His reward of everlasting life, which He will only give if, first, we give Him our lives. He would then pray with velocity, energy, and a pious sincerity that could melt even the most stubborn atheist's icy heart, carefully choosing his words.
Before going into the real business, he would then call on a lady who has paid undivided attention to his sermon, asking her to collect offerings, even the tithe, from everyone. Nothing is too small, and your token will enable the church to move to a permanent site.
A thin smile appeared on her lips; staring straight at the preacher, she murmured
"Fake pastor! I decoded those tricks a long time ago. If your God is that good, how come you are this wretched? I want nothing to do with such a god."
After a long hiss, already feeling simmering anger in her chest, she slowly rests her head against the seat in front, sinking back into her thoughts.
Heaven was heartbroken.
Regret and remorse had filled every corner of her soul until there was no room left for hope. She had given up on life, on love, and even on God. The future she had once imagined had crumbled so completely that she could no longer picture herself living in it.
Twice she had tried to end her life.
Twice she had stood on the edge of the irreversible.
Yet, at the final moment, fear had held her back. She could never bring herself to take that last step, and afterwards she hated herself for lacking the courage to do what she believed would end her suffering.
The thought of escaping never truly left her.
It lingered like a shadow, whispering that somewhere there must be a way to silence the pain forever. On her darkest days, she imagined simply disappearing—slipping beyond the reach of memory, disappointment, and heartbreak into a place where nothing could hurt anymore.
Everything had fallen apart.
The dreams she had nurtured, the plans she had carefully built, the love she had trusted so completely—they all lay in ruins. Nothing felt solid anymore. Nothing held together.
She was only twenty-four.
An age when life should have been unfolding before her, filled with endless possibilities.
Instead, she found herself counting the days, not to a brighter future, but through an existence that felt unbearably heavy. Each morning was something to endure rather than embrace.
The things that had once brought her joy now served only as painful reminders of what she had lost. Music sounded hollow. Laughter felt foreign. Even the sunrise seemed to mock her, faithfully returning each day when she could no longer find a reason to welcome it.
Her thoughts circled the same questions without mercy.
Why did this happen to me? How could love become so cruel? How could one mistake unravel an entire life? No matter how many times she asked, the silence offered no answers. It simply sat beside her, as faithful as her grief.
She is in so much emotional pain, and it doesn't hurt as a cut or a bruise would. It is just this heavy feeling. Her head spins, and the only explanation she can sum up for the pain is how she is the cause. All that does is bring even more pain.
A headache started in the back of her skull, pounding, warning her she wouldn't like what she found. She fought her thoughts backwards, pushing through to remember the cause of this emotional pain.
Her life took a drastic turn about six months ago. In a bus just like this one, she sat next to Peter, a fine-looking young man with a great body and adventurous personality. His face was strong and defined; his features were molded from granite. He had brown eyes and dark eyebrows, which slid downwards in a serious expression. He had prominent cheekbones and a well-defined chin. He was in a stunning outfit. At the sight of him, she miraculously fell under his spell. The feeling was so strong and beyond her control. After she tried everything within her power to get his attention and failed.
She bit her lip. How would she start a conversation with someone she just met? Then in that instant he turned and caught her eye; before she could turn away bashfully a genuine grin appeared across his face, turning it from handsome to divine. At that moment she felt her body flush warm. This was a person; she wants to know more. This was a guy she could love forever.
When he said, "Hi, my name is Peter!" a playful smile cut a hard line across his face. He had the most magnificent voice—soft and low, each syllable articulated, with flowing rhythm and inflection that was almost musical and had a hypnotic effect. Her heart fluttered as a million butterflies zipped inside her stomach. He seemed to like her and found her interesting, as a few minutes afterwards, both of them were laughing and giggling like children, resulting in a stare all over the bus.
It was as if time and space became the finest point imaginable, as if time collapsed into the tiny speck and exploded at light speed. From that very moment, every other person or thing faded into the background. All that mattered was the handsome devil beside her.